


Soft green

by RDQLOS



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Just some slurge of ice cream and Hanzo, With a side of me trying to understand Hanzo as a character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-18
Updated: 2016-11-18
Packaged: 2018-08-31 16:30:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 857
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8585713
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RDQLOS/pseuds/RDQLOS
Summary: Hanzo is a very conflicted man. His inner turmoil accidentally leads him into buying a carton of Haagen-Das matcha ice cream. A gift for someone on a social media site I frequent.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I got no proof reader and I've thus far been unsuccessful at keeping any of my work up due to self-loathing reasons. Hope this one's actually good. ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

No matter where he went or what he did, Hanzo never felt like he was home. He slept in beds, he occupied kitchens, he knew his neighbors but these things never spoke to him in a way that reminded him that where he lived was inherently his. He was a piece from a different puzzle, bumps meeting bumps and recesses creating holes where there shouldn't be; an odd splash of dark blues and blacks against a sea of white, grey, and orange. There was a little ache in the back of his mind that wished he could, that the things that caused him to be callous and distant could be fixed.

He had ceased looking for such a solution knowing well that it was he who had ruined his home and that this loneliness was a self-imposed punishment. If nothing beyond, Hanzo's dedication to his opinions was extraordinary but he easily grew mentally tired, a strange fatigue that he had been finding himself victim of far too often recently.

There were little times, though, where he could be distracted from the endless loop of torment he placed on himself. He could almost note that they were becoming more common since he started traveling the world, investing himself into things beyond atoning for the ultimate sin he committed. They crept up on him always in tiny packages, like this container of ice cream he had been holding in his hand for some time. He could assume by the chill in his fingertips that it was decent while. The golden up gleamed up at him with a small picture of a black cup surrounded by leaves with soft, round, brown letters reading “green tea ice cream.” A part of his mind went back to Japan, to countless tea ceremonies, the sound of crackling fires as kettles boiled above a Irori. The soft glimmer of light bouncing light off of silk kimonos so fine that you could almost see each individual thread. The shuffle of socked feet walking over tatami mats, the raven hue of a maiden's hair as they bowed before him and poured.

He pulled himself back forcefully. _No_ , he reminded himself. _That's not you, that's not something you deserve anymore._ His fingers were numb and the base of his digits throbbed painfully. Chances are the ice cream inside had become significantly warmer too, probably to the point where it would no longer freeze correctly. And since it had been his own doing he justified putting it into his basket.

In the comfort and quiet of his sparsely decorated room, the greying man sat cross legged before the coffee table, dodging the couch becoming second nature. On the table before him, and the subject of his scrutiny, the frozen dessert. Matcha flavoured delights were never rare in Hanamura, almost a plague on the entire island of his birth were it not so popular. Hanzo himself could never tell if he liked it or not. Every time he had it tasted different from the last. Some days it would be sweet, some days it would be dirty and muddled and there was never a clear cut of which he actually liked, yet he kept drinking it.

Spoon placed delicately to the side, his large hands carefully pried the lid and plastic cover away and took a small and sharp breath in preparation for whatever was actually mixed in the distinctly whiter-than-usual creamy treat. All his life green tea was, well, green. An opaque olive. Occasionally a bright, cheerful leaf colour for things like Bocchan Dango. This oddity only had a tint of green. Despite his insistence that his past life was gone there was still a thud of indignation that this company had applied the wrong colour to such a simple flavour. The corners of his mouth pulled his lips thin but regardless, he pressed forward. No point in wasting it. He wouldn't admit he was actually excited to have something that reminded him of a better life.

Half a spoonful, surely that's enough to get the general flavour but not enough to be committed if it turned out to be less than great. He pulled it close then hesitated, dropping the spoon again. Controlling thoughts pulling at his mind again. He battled with it, reasoned with it. It's wasteful. I have already bought it. Negotiations, compromises. A daily battle for Hanzo, an endless war for the exiled Shimada.

Somehow, through all of the inner bickering, the spoon made it into his mouth and the thoughts ceased, if at least for a moment. The creamy texture, the grassy sweetness of an overly sugary cup tea. At first the taste caused him to scrunch his face in disgust but by the third and fourth spoonful it had become less offensive to his palette, even.. enjoyable?

No, he wouldn't give it that much credit. He did end up finishing half the container before placing it into his miniscule freezer, absently deciding when he'd actually get around to finishing it. Nothing had changed his opinion on the actual flavour of matcha but his step did seem a little lighter after eating it.


End file.
